Merry and Bright
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: Not long after their escape from the Fratellis, winter comes to the Goon Docks, and the Goonies gather at Mikey's house to celebrate the holidays. Slight Mouth/Stef.


Okay, I'm not gonna lie — this is kinda sappy. And I've seen _The Goonies_ so many times that I can probably recite the entire movie from memory._  
_

Since, like Chunk, I celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas, I was determined to get this story posted before Hanukkah was over. And since tonight is the 8th and final night of Hanukkah for 5773 (2012-2013), I just got it in on time!

* * *

_Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough  
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now_

Mikey took a deep breath as he opened the oven door and carefully removed the tray of cookies. Behind him, Data was sitting on the countertop, swinging his legs and rattling on about the next invention he had planned — a combination oven mitt and baseball glove. The cookies smelled delicious, and the hot air warmed Mikey's lungs, which had been tight and wheezy since the cold weather set in.

Sometimes Mikey ruefully wondered who he thought he was kidding, when he tossed his asthma inhaler over his shoulder after they escaped from the Fratellis. Yes, the adventure had saved their house and changed his life — changed _all_ of their lives — but it hadn't magically cured his asthma. On the freezing first night of winter, he had woken up at three in the morning, gasping for breath, and almost panicked when his inhaler wasn't right there on hand.

Mikey set the cookies on top of the stove to cool. They were crisp butter cookies called _biscochitos_, Rosalita had explained, in broken English that was steadily improving, and people in Mexico ate them at Christmastime. She had mixed up the dough, popped them in the oven, and set the timer before going home for the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Walsh had decided to keep Rosalita on as their maid, even though they obviously didn't need her help moving anymore.

But it was a good thing that Rosalita was still working for them. She came by every day to cook and clean while Mikey's parents were out of town for the week. And in this case, _out of town_ didn't mean they had taken the I-5 to Seattle or Portland; no, they had flown clear across the country to New York City. The jewels from One-Eyed Willy's treasure trove were about to begin a nationwide tour, starting with the Metropolitan Museum. Mr. Walsh had gone to oversee their safe transfer, and he'd convinced the museum to pay for an airline ticket for his wife, too. They called often and promised to be home in time for Christmas. They'd sent their boys a card of a snowy Central Park scene. It sat on the coffee table, next to the miniature replica of the _David_ whose penis was still glued on upside-down.

Mikey had never been so far away from his parents before; his mother wouldn't have allowed it. But she was fussing and worrying over him a lot less since their adventure with One-Eyed Willy, and he was glad.

Brand was out on a date with Andy tonight — he finally got his driver's license in November, after he spent most of the Thanksgiving break practicing and studying for it — so Mikey had the house to himself, and he had decided to make the most of it by inviting over all the other Goonies to eat and play video games and _dreidel_. Chunk had one, and they all played the game every year with him, but last year, he'd eaten the entire bag of chocolate _gelt_ by himself and they'd had to use Hershey Kisses instead.

Mikey enjoyed playing _dreidel_; it was like playing marbles, and he didn't have his marbles anymore. They were still in the treasure room on One-Eyed Willy's pirate ship, wherever that was now. But losing his marbles was a small price to pay for keeping his house in the Goon Docks.

Before he'd left on his date, Brand had picked up pizzas for Mikey and the other boys to eat for dinner. They sat stacked in their boxes on the kitchen counter. All he and Data had to do now was wait for the other boys to arrive. They went back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. Data made a strange face as he sat down, then grinned and reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. I got you Christmas present, Mikey."

"But it's not Christmas y —" Mikey started to protest, but that's as far as he got before Data pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to him. "Hey, a new marble bag!" he exclaimed, catching it. It's a brand-new Marble King pouch, just like the one he stuffed One-Eyed Willy's jewels in, back on the pirate ship. It's perfect. Before they left for New York, his parents asked him to make a list of what he wanted for Christmas, but Mikey honestly couldn't think of one thing. The best present was getting to stay in the Goon Docks with his friends — what more could he want? But as he turned Data's gift over in his hands, he realized that he wanted new marbles, and he hadn't even known it. It's lucky that Data figured it out for him. Data really was the smartest kid Mikey knew. When he was little, he used to imagine himself as a superhero, and Data was always his trusty sidekick, his go-to gadget guy.

"Wow, thanks, Data," he said with a grin. He opened the pouch and dumped the marbles into his hand, watching them glisten and shine. "These are great. They're just like the ones I lost. I just feel bad I don't have a present to give you."

Data burst out laughing, as if this is the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "But you gave me _best_ present, Mikey. You lead us after One-Eyed Willy. You saved the Goon Docks." He glanced around the room, at the colored lights shining on the Christmas tree, the Nativity set on the end table, the garland strung around the stair banister, in the house that so narrowly escaped being demolished, and said again, "You gave me best present."

Just then, from outside, came the sound of footsteps trampling through the snow — first Chunk's lighter steps, and then, a moment later, Sloth's heavier steps, _crunch-crunch-crunch_, coming through the snow behind him.

* * *

_Do you believe in miracles?  
Am I hearing you? Am I seeing you?  
Eight nights and eight lights, end these fights, keep me right  
And bless me to the highest heights with your miracle _

It was still early in the evening, but with the short, cold winter days, it was already growing dark as Chunk and Sloth made their way up the street to Mikey's house. Flurries of snow were still falling steadily — weather reports had predicted that it would snow all through the night — and Sloth was walking a few paces behind Chunk, laughing his strange, ear-wiggling laugh whenever the snow brushed against his face. For the most part, though, he was busy unwrapping and eating the chocolate _gelt_ coins that Mrs. Cohen had given them before they left.

"Come on, Sloth," Chunk called, almost shouting to make himself heard above the wind and the crunch of snow beneath their feet. "This is Mikey's house!"

Snow was piled two inches high on the fence surrounding the Walshes' yard. Chunk knocked some of it to the ground as he held the gate open for Sloth and let it bang shut behind them. He was discovering that Sloth was more intelligent than he had first seemed, chained up in the resteraunt basement, but he still had to point out and explain things to him.

Their adventure with the Fratellis was just this past fall — just one season ago — but already, his life before Sloth feels so far away. In all Chunk's life, no one had ever looked up to him so much. He had always been the fat, clumsy kid the other Goonies made fun of. But not anymore.

As they hurried up the front walk, Chunk was grateful that he didn't have to do the truffle-shuffle to get through the gate anymore. It was so cold now that the other boys didn't want to crowd outside onto the porch to watch and laugh and set the Rube Goldberg machine in motion.

But even when spring came, and the weather turned warm again, Chunk was sure that he'd never have to go back to doing the truffle-shuffle. Now he had Sloth, and he could always remind the other boys that if he asked him to, Sloth would tear the Rube Goldberg machine apart, or better yet, rip the gate right off its hinges. He was stronger even than Brand, who's been obsessed with weight-lifting for as long as Chunk's known him.

This year was an especially cold winter for Astoria, but in the Walshes' front window, the bright lights on their Christmas tree glowed warmly in the dark evening. Chunk couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he looked at it. Yes, the golden menorah in the front window of his own house looked nice too, especially when its candles were lit, but it couldn't quite compare to the big, colorful Christmas tree, which touched the ceiling and cast a long shadow across the snowy front lawn.

Chunk reached into his coat pockets as he and Sloth climbed the front porch steps. One pocket was stuffed full of as many chocolate _gelt _coins as it could hold — he hadn't eaten them all this year — and the other one had the blue-and-silver _dreidel_ that his Bubbie Cohen had given him for Hanukkah two years ago. Edie had gotten one just like it.

He's just about to ring the doorbell when he feels Sloth's heavy hand grab his shoulder so hard that he almost loses his balance. Sloth still doesn't know his own strength. Chunk turns around halfway to face him, but before he can say anything, Sloth grins and pulls something from the pocket of the winter coat that they'd ordered for him from the Northwest Big & Tall, the only catalog that sold a coat in Sloth's size.

"Surpise," he drawls, holding it out, "present for Chunk."

"Gee, thanks, Sl—" Chunk starts to say automatically, but then, in the low front porch light, he makes out what Sloth is holding, and his face lights up. "Oh, boy, a Baby Ruth bar!" he cries. "Thanks, Sloth!"

He grins as he turns Sloth's gift over in his hands, and Sloth stands back, pleased. Baby Ruth was still Chunk's favorite chocolate bar — and the first food that he and Sloth had ever shared, back when they were locked up in the Fratellis' basement. Since then, they'd bonded even more over their love for junk food, eating entire bags of candy corn and chocolate pumpkins at Halloween, and at their family's Thanksgiving dinner, they'd put away two whole pies (one pumpkin and one pecan) between them. Chunk no longer felt like the piggish fat kid at any social gathering that involved eating, because Sloth was always right there with him now, eating even more than he did.

It was his favorite chocolate bar, and it was certainly a surprise. When had Sloth bought this without Chunk noticing? He vaguely hoped that he hadn't stolen it from the supermarket — but so what if he had? It was just one Baby Ruth bar.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Sloth's arm with one hand and the doorknob with the other. "Let's go inside and find that pizza!"

* * *

_It's comin' on Christmas. They're cuttin' down trees.  
They're puttin' up reindeer and singin' songs of joy and peace.  
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on._

Stef reached into her coat pocket for her gloves and pulled them on as she began to walk home from her job at the fish stand. It had been a dismal, slate-gray day, and Stef was vaguely relieved that it was almost over. And at least she didn't have to stick her head in the water barrel to fish out the crabs anymore; the weather was too cold for that now.

It wasn't a long walk from the fish stand to her house, but it seemed especially long and cold to Stef tonight, walking home by herself. Often Andy used to meet up with her when she got off work, just off from a football game or cheerleading practice herself, and the two of them would buy hot drinks and walk home together, talking about school and movies. But tonight, Andy was out on a date with Brand, so Stef was on her own. That was the only bad thing to have come out of their gang's adventure with One-Eyed Willy and the Fratellis — since then, Andy was spending less and less time with Stef and more and more time with Brand.

She never told her friend, but lately, Stef was almost missing the days when Andy used to date Troy. Yeah, the guy was a jock and a creep, but it had made Stef feel like less of a third wheel when he acted like a jerk and she and Andy could gang up on him together.

But _third wheel_ didn't even begin to describe how unnoticed and unwanted Stef felt when Andy was with Brand. At school, they didn't pass notes in class or walk the halls together anymore. Andy was too busy doodling hearts and writing names in her notebook during class to pass notes with Stef. _Andy Walsh. Brand & Andy Walsh. Brandon & Andrea Walsh. Andrea Carmichael Walsh._ And in the hallways between classes, she always seemed to have Brand on her arm and stars in her eyes.

Stef was never thrilled to be known as the cute cheerleader's geeky friend, but now, she wasn't even that anymore. Andy was still in the clouds, and Stef felt like she was drifting further and further away.

She usually liked looking at the lights on the Astoria-Megler bridge and their reflection on the river, but she barely noticed them tonight. This year was an especially cold winter in Astoria, but the river hadn't frozen. It never did anymore. But suddenly Stef wished that it would freeze over, so she could put on her old ice skates and skate away across the river, to Seattle or Canada, or whatever the hell was on the other side.

oOo

Stef would've been a perfect target for a snowball, when Mouth spotted her on the sidewalk on his way to Mikey's house. She was walking by herself, her head down, and she didn't even notice him on the other side of the street.

He almost did it, too; he almost whacked Stef upside the head with a snowball. He went so far as to crouch and start to pack the snow in his gloved hands, before it struck him what an _immature_ thing it would be to do. It was the sort of childish prank that the younger, stupider Mouth — the one who _hadn't_ discovered a long-lost pirate ship and saved his neighborhood from demolition — would pull.

But he was older and smoother now, so he dropped the snowball on the sidewalk and ran across the street, calling, "Stef! Yo, Stef!" Not _four-eyes_ or _geek face_ but _Stef_.

She raised her head and stopped walking, but she didn't seem happy to see him. Still, he strutted into the golden halo of light cast by the street lamp next to them and said a bit cockily, "_Feliz Navidad_," to show off his Spanish. Had he ever mentioned to Stef that he spoke Spanish fluently?

"Yeah, I guess," Stef replied, sounding bored. She brushed away some flurries of snow that had just landed on her hair, and Mouth had a sudden, strange urge to offer her his ski cap.

"Hey, I'm on my way over to Mikey's place for pizza and video games. You wanna come?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed, sounding offended this time, "Oh, yeah, right. You don't think I have anything better to do tonight than hang out with a bunch of junior-high kids?"

For once, Mouth kept his mouth shut, uncertain of how to answer. He almost asked her, "Well, do you?" but it seemed kinda mean.

It was lucky that he said nothing, because after a moment of silence, Stef sighed and said, "Well, I could go for some pizza. Lead the way."

Mouth grinned and they set off together down the dark, snowy sidewalk that didn't seem so cold to either of them anymore. Mouth knew that Mikey's parents always hung a sprig of mistletoe over their front door at Christmastime. He and Stef would have to pass right under it when they went inside...

**FIN**

* * *

The lyrics in this story are from, in order, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," by Frank Sinatra; "Miracle," by Matisyahu; and "River," by Joni Mitchell.

There are three different versions of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" — the original written lyrics, which were never sung (It may be your last / Next year, we may all be living in the past); the lyrics first sung Judy Garland in _Meet Me in St. Louis_ (Let your heart be light / Next year, all our troubles will be out of sight); and the lyrics first sung by Frank Sinatra in 1957 (Let your heart be light / From now on, our troubles will be out of sight). The lyrics quoted in this story come from Sinatra's version, although I personally prefer Garland's.


End file.
